Data Concerning the Date, Memo - Do Not Delete
by sherlockjumpedinthetardis
Summary: "It's just another day, now grow up!" It was an echo of a memory. Not even a full memory, just a snip of one. Sherlock had deleted it, and when Sherlock deletes things, they stay that way. Most of the time. A/N: I wrote a thing based on a Tumblr post. Don't judge it too harshly ;D I do not own characters or whatever else obviously! :) It's my first posted fic!


"_It's just another day, now grow up!"_

It was an echo of a memory. Not even a full memory, just a snip of one. Sherlock had deleted it, and when Sherlock deletes things, they stay that way.

Most of the time.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Christmas had come and went and it was the beginning of a new year, and John, wonderful, caring, fantastic John, was continuously dropping hints about _something_. Sherlock just couldn't figure it out. The holidays just passed to his relief and nothing important like Molly getting some new samples for his experiments or Lestrade calling with a wonderful triple homicide had occurred nor was likely to occur anytime in the next week, so really John's hints were incredibly annoying yet intriguing.

The sound of someone calling his name pulled him out of his thoughts, and when he glanced at John he knew he must have missed the question he just asked, "hmm?"

"I said, what'd you say? Want to stay in on the 6th or go out and have dinner? We could even invite Mrs. Hudson along, maybe Lestrade or even Molly too."

Interesting. The sixth. Something important was significant with the sixth of January…

"_Mummy what's this?"_

"_It's your present for your special day, silly boy!" She was smiling. She was happy. Sherlock rarely saw his mother smiling._

_When she gave him the big box with a bow on top, his eyes lit up and he jumped with joy at the microscope that was inside._

"_Mummy! It's brilliant!" And in a fleeting moment he leaped into her arms for a hug of thanks._

_She smiled and patted his head and simply said, "Well it's only fit for my wonderful seven year old now isn't it?"_

When Sherlock came back to himself, he realized he was on the couch and John was crouched in front of him with a frown on his face. Sherlock just waved him away mumbling something about being fine. When he was alone he began to think again. That memory didn't make any sense. His mother had said he was seven like that was supposed to mean something special. What bothered him most though was that he didn't remember it. He thought he saved every memory of his mother after she died but this one felt new. Like he had…. Like he had _deleted_ it.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

A hand full of days past and suddenly it was the morning of the sixth of January, but Sherlock still had no clue as to what was so special about the date. John didn't act different, well by much. He smiled and told Sherlock he would make Sherlock's favorite breakfast, even if Sherlock didn't really feel like eating. He brought Sherlock some tea without Sherlock asking and didn't complain when Sherlock started a new experiment in the kitchen with the human body parts he had gotten from Molly just yesterday. Everything was normal, even if John was being more lenient with him than usual but he still didn't understand the importance of the date. And then as if sensing his general frustration and annoyance, Mycroft showed up and made it worse.

They were bickering as usual. Mycroft wanted Sherlock to take some tedious case that would send him away from John for a few days starting effective immediately. John wouldn't voice his opinion and stayed alarmingly quiet but Sherlock could see the disappointment etched on his face at the thought of Sherlock not being around for a few days, let alone today. And naturally Sherlock didn't want to take the case anyways so he found pleasure in telling Mycroft no over and over in every childish manner he could think of. And then Mycroft lost his temper, just like he had in Buckingham Palace.

"For God's sake, Sherlock! Would you just _grow up!"_

And then, there he went again. He felt a hard pull from the back of his mind as Mycroft scathingly told him to grow up.

"_It's just another day, now grow up!"_

_It was the year after Mummy had given him his microscope. She had gotten sick later on that year and passed that November. And now here he was on the sixth of January, excited and proud. He was eight now! Getting closer and closer to being old enough to be taken seriously and have people actually listen to him! Adults wouldn't treat him like a child and would hold intelligent conversations with him soon._

_But first he wanted to enjoy his special day. That's what Mummy had called it. She had given him a present, was proud that he was so smart for being seven years old, and gave him all his favorite foods for breakfast, lunch and dinner. And then there was cake! He was looking forward to the cake this year the most, but when he asked Mycroft about it his brother just sniffed and said there wouldn't be any cake or anything else that would be different than any other day._

_Sherlock hadn't learned to block out all his emotions yet. He was after all only eight. So he ran from Mycroft and cried in a hiding spot until he fell asleep. When Mycroft found him he told him to get out of the cleaning closet and become presentable for dinner with Father._

_He did as he was told, secretly hoping that Mycroft was just playing and there would be cake after all. When he finally made it down stairs Mycroft and Father were already sitting at the table talking about politics, much to Sherlock's displeasure._

_He asked just once during dinner if they'd be having any dessert. Mycroft shot him a deep glare and his father hadn't really acknowledged that he had spoke at all. When all the dishes were cleared away, their father retreated to his study leaving Sherlock wondering around the house until it got close to bedtime._

_He went in search of Mycroft hoping that maybe he had just been playing a game with Sherlock all day. Pretending today wasn't special but that when Sherlock walked into Mycroft's room, Mycroft would be standing there waiting with a gift and a piece of cake just for Sherlock._

_He had never been so wrong in his life._

_On his way to Mycroft's room, he grabbed a book about pirates and was going to ask if Mycroft would read him to sleep after they celebrated Sherlock's growth and intelligence after being born eight whole years ago. But when he walked in Mycroft was busy at his desk, scribbling away and every once and a while rubbing at his red eyes._

"_Mycroft?"_

_His brother stiffened as if he hadn't realized Sherlock had come in._

"_Today I am eight. Last year Mummy gave me cake and a present. Do I – do I get that this year as well?"_

_And then Mycroft turned to him in a sharp jerky move._

"_Why would you possibly get gifts or treats today?" he hissed. "There is nothing _special_ nor significant about today. It is but another day, Sherlock. It is but an irrelevant holiday, as much so as Valentine's Day or Halloween. You cannot choose the day you are born, and you certainly do not do anything to facilitate the process!"_

_Sherlock didn't understand. His mother said today was special. But… Mycroft was saying otherwise, it didn't make sense._

"_But Mycroft, Mummy says-"_

"_Mummy is gone! There is no use in remembering something as trivial as birthdays even if Mummy had told you today was special."_

_Sherlock stood frozen where he was, why would Mummy lie? She said today was important but it wasn't. And he couldn't very well ask her why she lied to him._

"_It's just another day, now grow up!"_

_With that Sherlock bolted from his brother's room to lock himself in his own. That night tears rolled down his cheeks as he went over the conversation in his mind. Mummy said today was important. That is was special. Mycroft said it was as irrelevant as Valentine's Day or Halloween. A person doesn't pick their date of birth so why should it matter. It was just another day._

_Just another day. And he needed to grow up._

_So that night Sherlock forced himself to quit crying, forced himself to delete all memory of his birthday, including the conversation he had had with Mycroft._

_The following morning he wouldn't remember anything about the day before. He wouldn't have any idea the significance of the sixth of January and he would in fact grow up. No more crying, no more showing emotions. He would read and do experiments. He would learn and isolate himself and one day he would grow up and be something fantastic, something brilliant._

When Sherlock pushed the memory away he found himself flat on his back on the floor in the sitting room of 221B.

John was fluttering about around him, pressing his fingers to Sherlock's pulse point on his neck. Brush his hand through his hair and calling his name while his brother continued to sit in John's chair.

Sherlock grabbed hold of John's hand and told him he was fine. John was about to protest but one look at Sherlock's face made him stop and just nod. They were still holding hands but neither seemed to mind and stayed that way until Sherlock rubbed his thumb along John's wrist and pulled away.

When he sat up, his head hurt a bit but he ignored it in favor of looking over at Mycroft. He didn't have to say a word because it seemed his facial expression was doing all the talking for him. One look at Sherlock's face and Mycroft went startlingly pale. John glanced between them and being the doctor that he is started to walk over to Mycroft to ask if he was alright but the brothers both stopped him, Sherlock by grabbing his hand and Mycroft by waving him away.

The eldest Holmes seemed to be at a loss for words but tried to start anyways, "Sher-"

"No. You don't get to speak. How dare you? You do realize you are mostly to blame for the way I am, don't you? '_It's just another day, now grow up.' 'Caring is not an advantage.' _ You have worked so hard since the beginning to make me into the perfect unemotional, problem solving, legwork lackey you've always wanted me to be."

"I have never-!" John jumped at hearing Mycroft raise his voice. He wasn't exactly sure what was going on but he watched looking between the two like it was the most intense tennis match he'd seen in ages.

Mycroft took a deep breath and continued a bit more calmly, "I have never wanted anything but the best for you. I've never wanted what you're claiming. I – That night, you will never understand as hard as try to explain. It had only been two months Sherlock. I was only fifteen, and was practically raising you as my own! I was mourning and you caught me off guard when you came in. I – I never meant – I tried to talk to you the next day but you wouldn't hear of it. You shut down and I couldn't get you back. I am sorry for what happened, but I am not sorry for anything else. I've only ever wanted to protect you; I've only ever wanted what's best for you."

Sherlock remained silent staring hard at his brother while still gripping John's hand almost to the point of pain. Mycroft was looking away, staring towards a window but wasn't seeing anything beyond it.

"Sherlock, what's going on?" John asked quietly.

"Should you tell him or shall I?" It was rhetorically of course, because he wasted no time waiting for a reply and carried on talking to John but continued to stare at Mycroft, "You are aware that I treat my mind as a hard drive, only keeping things I deem important or relevant. It's always been this way, ever since I was a child. My mother… she loved me, John. Loved us both. And she treated everything we did as if it were the most singularly important thing in the world. The first birthday that I could remember was when she gave me my first microscope. I had turned seven and then later that same year she died. Two months after she passed it was my birthday again, but this time it was treated as any other day and I was told that it was an irrelevant holiday, not something I could have chosen for myself and that it was just another day. That I needed it grow up." He said the last bit through clinched teeth. When he calmed down a bit he continued on.

"I idolized Mycroft for a short time after my mother had past but when he told me that, I pushed away my emotions, deleted all references that had to do with my birthday and _grew up_. It was only recently when you started giving today a significant meaning and when Mycroft told me to grow up that I remembered."

John didn't know what to say. Sherlock seemed to be done with his story, so he let go of John's hand and walked to his bedroom, quietly shutting the door as he went.

He heard a heavy sigh and jumped when he realized he had been staring at Sherlock's bedroom door for who knows how long. He looked to Mycroft who was standing, clearly waiting for something, but John didn't know what so he just told him to leave and stay away until he or Sherlock came to him.

Mycroft left without a word and John stayed in the sitting room until he heard Sherlock's door open. When Sherlock came in the room, John still didn't know what to do. They both stood in the middle of the room and just stared at each other for a long moment.

John doesn't remember who moved first and he's pretty sure if he asked Sherlock, Sherlock wouldn't know either but suddenly Sherlock was wrapped around John, and John around Sherlock. Sherlock had crammed his face in between John's shoulder and neck and just held on painfully tight.

Eventually they both eased their grip on each other but when Sherlock went to pull away completely John held him fast. He leaned his head against Sherlock's and made sure he was looking right into John's eyes before he started talking.

"Mycroft is an idiot. And you're a git." He said with a small smile. "I know what Mycroft did was wrong, and believe me I think it was by pure chance that I was in so much shock that I didn't punch the bastard, but for as long as I've known the both of you, he's never wanted anything but the best for you. He loves you, you git, you'll forgive him eventually. I know you," and to emphasize that John pressed his forehead a little harder against Sherlock's.

"I want you to know, and this is important so put a red flag on the memo in that big brain of yours that says no deleting, that today, Sherlock, is the most important day of the year. Today we _celebrate_ because the world was given a man that is so brilliant and fantastic and amazing and does so much good for everyone in it, that it would be a crime not to celebrate _you_. The world needs a Sherlock Holmes in it, so don't think for one second that today is not special."

They stayed quiet for a while and then Sherlock placed a hand on John's cheek and simply said, "John," in the way Sherlock says when John astounds him.

They shared a brief smile before John breaks the little world they've created from themselves. He pulls away and looks at the clock before grinning and pulling Sherlock towards the door.

"Come on, we're going to Angelo's to celebrate."

And with that John leads the way to the restaurant where Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, and Molly are all waiting with gifts and smiles, and if the night ends with a kiss between flatmates that turns them into something more than best mates well that's definitely reason enough for Sherlock never to delete the date of his birth again.

THE END :P


End file.
